


To Come or Not To  Come

by Arcwin



Series: Unilock AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Banter, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Exams, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Third Person Limited, References to Canon, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcwin/pseuds/Arcwin
Summary: Follows "Roommates" -- can be read as a standalone, or as part of the series.Sherlock and John are dating, and, you guessed it, also roommates. Dating your roommate has a lot of benefits, to be sure. Don't have to worry about hanging a sock on the doorknob, easier to spend time together, you get the gist. But, sometimes, it makes it hard to focus on the reason you're at Uni in the first place, especially when your roommate is really, really sexy and really, really good at convincing you to do things you know you shouldn't.It's Midterms, and Sherlock has a plan to help John de-stress between exams. John's determined--he isn't going to come, no matter what Sherlock does to try to convince him. Will his resolve hold out?





	To Come or Not To  Come

John rolled over with a groan. There was an ache in his bladder that seemed unhealthy, but he was far too tired to do anything about it just yet. His thoughts drifted lazily between each other, interwoven in ways that only make sense when half awake. The first rays of dawn peeked through the blinds, sending beams of pinkish-gold light streaming down to make patterns on the concrete floor. He sighed loudly, feeling the air drain from his lungs. He heard an answering groan behind him, followed by a sharp jab of an elbow between his shoulder blades. The mattress shifted as his bedmate rolled closer to him, pulling the blankets off John with a slow slide until he was entirely exposed to the cool morning air. Cocooned warmth snuggled into his back, an angular arm snaking its way around his waist and planting its large, bony hand over his heart. Blunt pressure pushed into the back of his neck, and John smiled. Sherlock is cuddliest in the morning, though he’d deny it to anyone who asked. 

_ Appearances, John. I have to maintain my appearances. I have an international reputation. Do you have an international reputation? _

_ No, I don’t have an international reputation, and neither do you. _

_ I might. _

_ You definitely don’t. _

The ache in his belly worsened, drawing his attention back to the idea of going to the loo. He waffled, knowing that the moment he got out of bed he’d lose his cozy snuggling partner for the day. Sherlock’s warm breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, and that decided it. The loo could wait. The voice of his anatomy professor echoed around his brain, little snippets from last week’s lecture threading its way through his thoughts. 

_ Holding in large amounts of urine for an extended period of time also exposes your body to potentially harmful bacteria... _

_ Well, yeah, _ he thought, arguing with the professor in his mind. _ I know that. But if I get up, I’ll risk waking him up, and then I’ll be exposing myself to all sorts of untold bodily harm in other ways… _

_ ...which can increase your chances of getting a urinary tract infection (UTI) or bladder infection… _

Sherlock withdrew his arm and rolled away, muttering something under his breath as he further wrapped the blankets around himself. 

“Hmm?” John asked, wondering if he was talking in his sleep again.

“Just go to the loo,” was the murmured reply. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

With a smile, John inched off the bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold concrete floor of the dorm. His trip to the loo was quick, passing several of his classmates as they shuffled bleary-eyed down the hall on their way to the dining hall. As he stood over the urinal, one arm up against the wall next to him, he sighed. Midterms today. 

“Bollocks,” he muttered to himself. He had studied, but it never feels like enough when you’re in pre-med. And then there was the matter of his roommate…

His distracting, sexy, convincing roommate who knew exactly how to get John to do _ exactly _ the opposite of what he ought to. The one who was laying in bed, cocooned in blankets and sheets and snoring softly, awaiting John’s return. That is, unless he took too long to get back. Nothing holds Sherlock’s attention, least of all sleep. It was a matter of moments before he realized what time it was and popped out of bed, his brain already running at a hundred kilometers a second. 

That’s what happened, too, which came as a major disappointment to John. As the door to their room swung open, it revealed a fully dressed chemistry major sitting at his desk with a pipette already in hand. John paused in the doorway and sighed. So much for cuddling. 

He glanced out the window and noted the dreary grey sky, then grabbed his favorite jumper and a pair of well worn trousers. Midterms required comfort after the soul-crushing exhaustion they caused. As he dressed, he saw Sherlock’s eyes drift away from the test tube he had been focused on, looking instead at John.

Heat prickled the back of his neck as he blushed, knowing full well what Sherlock was doing. It was always exciting, being roommates with him, as well as a little unnerving. John wasn’t sure what Sherlock thought of their relationship, as the man was not one for talking about feelings. Be that as it may, John was happy enough, even if he was a little more behind on his studies than he had been prior.

Sherlock returned to the pipette and test tube on his desk after John finished dressing, huffing out a sigh. “You’ll do fine,” he said, bored. “In fact, I predict a 94%.”

“You can’t possibly predict how _ I’m _ going to do on a test. There are too many variables!” John argued as he started tossing his notes into a bag to study on the way to class. 

“Nonsense,” Sherlock dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I know how intelligent you are, and I know how much you studied beforehand. I also know how challenging the course material is, and calculating in a small range for error, I expect you to come home with a 94% on The Big One. The others, probably similar though I didn’t spend as much time on the statistics and probability for them. This _ is _ the only one you _ actually _ care about, so it doesn’t matter.” His voice had gotten faster the longer he spoke, droning on in a low rumble that started to sound more like a machine than a man.

John stared, distracted by the way Sherlock’s hands moved. So precise, so careful as he squeezed fractions of drops into the test tube. How he managed to get an experiment started in the short time John was in the loo was a mystery. 

“John?” Sherlock called, annoyed. He turned in his seat and stared, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Daydreaming?” 

“Hm.”

“As I was saying, there is plenty of time for us between exams,” he said, standing abruptly and slinking over to John. He rested his hands on John’s waist and pulled them together, lacing his thigh between John’s legs. 

“Wait, what? No--no, Sherlock, no way. Not...we can’t do _ that _ again. I was fifteen minutes late to my next class last time! I nearly lost credit for the exam.”

“_ Nearly _. You enjoyed it as much as I did,” Sherlock retorted, a hand snaking up beneath the hem of John’s jumper. “I did the calculations--”

John scoffed and shook his head. “Of course you did!”

“There’s enough time for you to do your exam, meet up with me, and then make it to the next class. _ Even _ if you _ walked _.”

“No.” John pulled away, extracting himself from the seemingly endless limbs of his roommate. “Absolutely not. I have to go to class.” He grabbed his bag from the floor and walked to the door, ready to leave, but something inside him softened. Turning back, he shouldered his bag and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso, pulling him close. The two kissed, a soft and tender thing that threatened to buckle John’s knees. “Have a good day,” he whispered as they touched foreheads. “I’ll see you tonight.”

As he walked away, he heard his roommate mutter, “Few hours, actually.”

John grit his teeth and let the dorm door shut behind him. Not worth the argument.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

>>Mike: You almost here, mate?

<<Nearly. Some protest is happening in the common so the bus was delayed. Save me a seat?

>>Mike: Already have. 

>>Mike: Getting some nasty looks for it though.

>>Mike: Protesting what?

<<Either midterms or missiles. Hard to read the signs.

>>Mike: They’ve got missiles here?

>>Mike: Blimey, think they woulda had that on the orientation tour, eh?

<<Don’t think they’re here, if it’s actually about missiles.

<<Bus stopped. See you in a mo.

As John walked to class, his phone went off again. Probably just Mike confirming he got the message. He ignored it and kept going, but then his pocket vibrated again. And again. And _ again. _

“Sherlock,” he groaned to himself, taking the steps two at a time into the Bio building. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he slid the phone out and glanced at the screen alerts. Sure enough, it was from Sherlock, and it included pictures.

The moment he unlocked it, his face turned four shades of red and he nearly dropped his phone. He fumbled it in his fingers for a few seconds. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he gasped, as he righted it and stared at the screen. 

Attached to the pictures was a message: 

>>Sherlock: Since you’re refusing to meet up with me, I’ve decided to show you exactly what you’re missing.

“Ey!” Mike called from across the room. “Oi, John!” 

John could barely tear his eyes away from the pictures on his phone long enough to acknowledge his friend. Weaving through the seats, he stopped dead in front of the spot Mike had saved for him and took another long look at the screen.

“Wuzzat?” Mike asked, leaning over to take a look. 

With a quick slide of his thumb, John shut the screen off before Mike could see what was there. “Nothing,” he lied, face continuing to turn shades of purple and red. “Just...nothing.”

“Hm. Sure,” Mike said, suspicious but clearly giving in. “Say, you didn't happen to bring an extra pen with you, did you?”

John fished his second pen for the day out of the side pocket of his bag, giving his friend a sidelong glance. “Make sure you get it back when you're done. Pretty sure this one's down to its last bit of ink, and I have two more exams after this.”

Mike nodded, tipping an imaginary hat at John just as their professor started plopping down exam booklets on the first seat of each row with a _ thwack _. They sounded heavy. John winced.

“You have two hours,” was all the man said in his usual droll monotone before he took a seat behind his desk and pulled out his tablet.

The friends exchanged one last meaningful look of skeptical optimism before they received their tests from the classmates in front of them. The students who had already begun sighed heavily as they read the first page, making John’s heart sink even lower in his stomach. 

This was gonna be rough.

_ “Which structure is a folded membrane that forms a network of interconnected compartments?” _

His thoughts drifted over to the pictures on his cellphone, and he couldn’t help but smile. Sherlock was trying hard to convince him to meet up between exams. It was sweet, really, that he put so much effort into it, though John knew the man had an ulterior motive. He _ always _had an ulterior motive. 

Then again...

It _ did _ sound enticing.

And he _ did _ have a good time, last time.

_No_, he shook his head. _Not_ _again_, Sherlock wasn’t getting him _again_.

Better to just focus on the exam and forget about those pictures on his phone, forget about Sherlock’s proposition from this morning. Forget about Sherlock’s knee between his own and the hand snaking up the bottom of his jumper.

_ Bugger _.

Focus on the exam, John. Just focus.

_ “What is the breeding experiment used to determine the genotype of an organism? Draw an example.” _

He drew the Punnett Square, thinking about the genetics that were at play to produce his brilliant, angular boyfriend. He wondered what Sherlock’s parents were like. He knew that he had an older brother, who Sherlock was careful to describe as _ different _ . John couldn’t think of what could possibly make anyone more _ different _ than Sherlock. Perhaps the man was unintelligent? Boring?

With a heavy sigh, John glanced at the clock above the door to his classroom. A half hour had already passed, and he’d barely made it through the second page of the veritable novel his professor had handed out. He picked it up by the staples to make sure he only had one exam, convinced there were more pages than was possible for a single midterm. Sadly, there hadn’t been a mistake. He needed to focus if he was going to complete it on time. He glanced over at Mike, who clearly had nearly half of his test finished already. 

Pushing all thoughts of his distracting boyfriend from his mind, John doubled down on his efforts in the Bio exam. In his pocket, his phone buzzed, then buzzed again. Looking up from under his bangs, he checked to see if his professor was paying attention. The man was reclined in his seat, feet up on his desk and tablet in his lap. He was smirking, clearly engrossed in whatever he was watching. John reached down to his lap and slid his phone out of pocket just enough to see the screen. 

There was a banner across it:

>>Sherlock: Come on John. We both know you're going to give in. You can't resist.

He pushed it back into his pocket with the pad of his thumb and grumbled to himself. Bastard was dead wrong. There was no way, no way in hell John was going to fall for this again. Last time, Sherlock promised they would get back early. Then the moment they got started, Sherlock kept coming up with more and more for them to do, until John was so enthralled he didn't even notice how late it had gotten. When he finally did see the time, Sherlock was just as engrossed as he is when he's investigating, which means John nearly had to smack the man across the face to get his attention. 

_ Never again, _ he scolded as he raced to change and run to his next exam. _ Not between exams, not even between classes! After we are done for the day is fine, but never before! I'm trying to be a doctor, for Christ’s sake, Sherlock! I can't go around skipping class so I can engage in shenanigans with you! _

In retrospect, he was a bit harsh. But he also knows Sherlock doesn't always take no for an answer. Hence, the buzzing in his pocket. 

He slid the phone out, turned it off, and tossed it into his open backpack at his feet. 

“Watson? Something more interesting on your phone than on your test?” the professor called out, making John jump a mile in his seat. 

“No, just putting it away,” he answered quickly, face starting to burn as Mike and several other classmates turned to stare at him. “My friend--”

“This is the only warning.” 

John could have snapped his pencil in two. “Yeah,” he mumbled, gluing his eyes back to his test. His fist shook on the desk in front of him. It was becoming more and more likely that he was going to kill Sherlock Holmes today.

The rest of the test time flew by, leaving John rushing at the end. He did his best, plopped it onto his professor’s desk, and slunk out of the classroom at the back of the pack. Even Mike had finished before him, a rare occurrence between them. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, John checked his watch and considered what he would do between exams. _ The Big One _ , as Sherlock called it, wasn’t until later in the afternoon. He had a maths exam in an hour and a half, which he was sure to pass easily, and then enough of a gap that he could probably grab lunch at the dining hall before _ The Big One _. 

Anatomy and Physiology. The midterm was worth a whopping 25% of his grade, and he knew that most of the medical schools he was considering would look at his grades in A&P I&II more than anything else in his application. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he failed this exam.

“John,” a familiar baritone called, voice like silk, as John bumped into the taller man, completely lost in his own thoughts. Comfortable arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. Sherlock inhaled deeply above John’s head. “You...passed. _ Barely _. You were distracted.”

Not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice, John snapped, “By _ you _! How many times did you text me? I nearly got kicked out for looking at my phone!”

Pulling away, Sherlock frowned. “It isn’t my fault that you looked while you were in an exam.”

“I--you--,” John started, irritation mounting. Sherlock’s eyes widened, the edge of hurt creeping into his expression. 

John softened. “Well, you didn’t need to keep texting me. You knew full well what I was doing.”

“Mm, so I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, though,” was the murmured reply. Sherlock guided them to the nearest wall, pressing John’s back against it. Behind them, students passed with their heads bowed, barely noticing them as they stared at their phones. 

Breath catching as Sherlock’s leg slotted between his own, John asked, “Didn’t you have an exam?”

Sherlock kissed the edge of John’s jaw, nodding. “Chemistry. Laughable. Took me ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes!?” John exclaimed, pulling away from Sherlock’s mouth. “You are..._ incredible _.” He pushed up on his heels and caught his boyfriend in a kiss, cradling his head and threading his fingers into Sherlock’s dark, curly hair. The two remained entwined for several moments until Sherlock broke away and grinned. 

“You’re gonna come.” It wasn’t a question. 

John shook his head, planting his hands on Sherlock’s chest. “No, I’m not.”

Sherlock leaned down, kissing the outside shell of John’s ear. “You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You _ are _ . You _ can’t _ resist it. The bus will arrive in thirty seconds. We have exactly 45 minutes, and then the bus to your maths exam arrives and you will make it with plenty of time.”

“No, Sherlock. That’s what you said last time!”

“I calculated it. Come on, John. We have to go outside, now!” He tugged at John’s hand, pulling him out to the bus stop. 

John dragged his feet, stumbling along the sidewalk until they reached the stop. He could see the bus down the street, and of course, Sherlock was right. It was exactly the bus they needed.

His thoughts were at war. He felt like an innocent bystander in his own mind, watching the two factions debate the pros and cons of getting on the bus. Beside him, Sherlock grinned like a fool, clearly convinced he was going to get on that bus and go with him. Their hands were still intertwined between them, fingers laced together. Sherlock squeezed his hand affectionately, clearly thrilled that he had won the battle with John’s conscience. 

John wasn’t going to get on the bus, he wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

Sherlock was _ wrong _.

As the bus pulled up to the stop, Sherlock stepped up into it, tugging at John’s hand and smiling down at him. 

John sighed.

Sherlock is never wrong.

He stepped up onto the bus and followed Sherlock to a seat near the back, knowing the ride was going to take some time. As he looked up at his boyfriend beaming next to him, John knew he had made the right choice, even if it did make him late for his next exam.

* * *

Sweaty and sated, John smiled over at Sherlock. His hair was disheveled, curls haphazardly sticking up around his head. He had a pleased sort of smile on his face, the kind that only comes from doing something truly enjoyable. 

“Happy, are you?” he asked.

“Immensely. You’re less stressed, too, John.”

John couldn’t deny it. He _ was _less stressed. Even though he knew he had two more exams to do, he felt relieved after the activities of the last 45 minutes. It had lifted something in him, helped clear his mind of worries about school. All he had focused on was how he his body felt, and it was exactly what he needed. He knew he should thank Sherlock for this, even though his pride told him no. He knew it would go to the young man’s already massively inflated head.

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock murmured as he handed John his backpack. “Now, say your goodbyes so you’re not late for maths.”

With a grin, John knelt down. Tongues immediately found his face, licking him everywhere as long-nailed paws pressed into his thighs. “You’re all such good puppies,” John said quietly, hands roaming from head to head as he tried to give each dog a few good scratches and pets. “Such _ good _ puppies. I wish I could take you _ all _ home!”

Sherlock was kneeling next to him, doing the same. “Not until we have a house, I’m afraid,” he commented, grabbing an Irish Setter by the head and ruffling its ears. Kissing the dog’s head, he whispered something gentle while stroking its neck. 

Nuzzling his favorite terrier, John took one last deep breath and smiled. “Yeah, s’pose we need a house first. Let’s go, Sherlock, before I give into every last urge to skip the maths exam and stay here for the rest of the day.”

The two rose to their feet, saying a few last goodbyes to the dogs at the shelter, and then left the kennel. 

“None going home with you today, boys?” the middle aged woman behind the counter asked, as she always did when they came to visit. “Redbeard has his eyes on you, Sherlock,” she added, nodding over at the Irish Setter. 

“Not today, Angela,” John answered, wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist. The taller man was staring back at the dog, contemplating. “Midterms,” he added, tugging Sherlock with him. 

“I’ll be back,” he called to Redbeard. 

“He knows you will,” Angela answered. “See you boys later!”

They walked to the bus stop together and waited, watching a bus as it came trundling down the road towards them. John knew it was exactly the one he needed to get to his exam, and he smiled. 

“Thank you, Sherlock,” he said softly, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Knew you’d come.”

“Shut up.”


End file.
